


Mistake

by justlikehoney



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 13:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikehoney/pseuds/justlikehoney
Summary: Dick as Lolita. Bruce as Humbert Humbert.





	Mistake

By the time Dick pads across the bedroom, Bruce is already sitting up, eyes wary.

“What is it, Dick?” He checks the clock. 3:30 am. 

“I can’t sleep.” Dick sits down on the edge of the bed, twisting and untwisting the nearest handful of bedcovers. 

“Dick…” It’s Bruce’s warning voice.

“Oh, Bruce, please?” The smile Dick gives him is blinding, impossibly radiant and hopeful. 

“No.” Bruce says, chin set.

“But Bruce… please?” He sounds lost enough that Bruce’s resolve flickers for a fragment of a second. It isn’t Dick’s fault that patrol ran so late. Robin worked hard to save the city again tonight, and of course he’s still wound up. 

“Please?” Dick almost sounds like he’s whining now, and that’s enough to bring Bruce’s drifting mind back to the issue at hand. He crosses his arms, resolute. 

“Dick,” he says carefully, “we‘ve had this discussion.” 

Dick fidgets with the coverlet, running his finger over the fabric’s pattern before looking up again, his mouth petulant. “We didn’t discuss it. You just decided.”

“It’s for the best.”

“I thought we were partners.”

Bruce doesn’t correct him. He doesn’t explain the difference between Batman and Robin and Bruce and Dick, because it’s one that Dick knows as well as he does and lives every day. He doesn’t explain that in either instance, he’s the final authority, because Dick knows that too. Respects and expects it. Instead he says,” You need to sleep in your own room.”

Dick is cross. Because it’s currently less problematic than eye contact, Bruce focuses on Dick’s lower lip, which is jutting out slightly. Dick must realize the immaturity of the pout, because it’s not one Bruce has ever seen him try on anyone else, and for that, he is thankful. It’s very childish. 

There’s shine on the lower lip. Bruce watches it, waiting for Dick’s next words to tumble out, not thinking about the tiny circle of spit on the red inner muscle. Certainly not about running his thumb over the slickness, or slipping inside. Not thinking about making Dick lap against his thumb (and Dick would, Robin would, eagerly and with pleasure, if Bruce wanted him to) as his thumb pushes in. Bruce clears his throat and glances down at the floor before realizing Dick is watching him, waiting.

Dick presses his advantage. “It’s not fair.” 

“Not fair is beneath you, Dick.” Bruce’s tone is clipped, sharper than he’d meant it to be, but an acceptable weapon in these circumstances. “A juvenile excuse, attempting to negate what is necessary.” 

“I’m scared all by myself.” 

The corner of Bruce’s mouth quirks up, but it’s not an entirely nice smile. “Dick,” he says, “Robin. You can’t expect me to believe such a patent lie.”

“Yes,” Dick nods, trying to bite back a self-conscious grin. Bruce wonders if Dick will ever be able to truly hide his feelings. Perhaps, but probably not from him. Not even in a mask.

“You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known. And too honest to be a good liar.”

Dick’s cheeks flush pink, and his eyes shine up at him so brilliantly that Bruce has to look elsewhere for a moment. 

Dick drops his own gaze to stare at his fingers, winding in the sheets. “Okay,” he mumbles. “But I do still have nightmares,” he sneaks a glance at Bruce, “sometimes.”

“I know.” 

“And I know you have bad dreams too, sometimes.”

Bruce nods. “It’s not an excuse, Dick.”

“And we both have trouble sleeping sometimes. You know, for other reasons, like all the-” his words get tangled. “You know. Fighting… ” he trails off, then tries again, “So I don‘t see why we can‘t-you know, help each other out.”

“No.”

“It’s not my fault patrol got me all wound up.”

“No. But it is your responsibility to deal with the repercussions.” 

“Why… why can‘t we just-” he fists his hand in the sheet, “just deal with it together?”

Bruce’s lips press together in a thin line. “It isn’t… appropriate, Dick.“

“But-”

“That was a mistake.”

Dick looks like he’s been gut-punched by his best friend and Bruce wishes there was an easier way to deal with one or two moments of weakness. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s able to say it because he’s sorry Dick is hurting, not because he’s admitting anything else. 

Some nebulous, dark emotion flickers across Dick’s face. It’s something that would be more at home on patrol than in a manor bedroom and Bruce can’t quite identify it before it’s gone, replaced by Dick’s usual easy charm. Only the smile doesn’t quite make it to Dick’s eyes this time. “Then just let me stay here with you tonight,” he says, tilting his head hopefully. “Your bed’s big enough. “We won’t do anything. I’ll stay way over on the other side, and-” 

“Please, Dick. Stop.”

Dick’s smile dissolves and his next words come in a rush, all at once. “But my bed’s cold and I’m lonely sleeping by myself and I don’t-” he falters for a moment, and his voice cracks, so he lowers it to a whisper. “I don’t understand why you don’t like me anymore.”

“Dick.” Bruce says, his own voice as soft as he can make it. “You know it’s not that.”

Dick springs forward and pounces, throwing his arms around him. “Good.” He buries his face in Bruce’s neck, inhaling deeply. “I knew you still liked me.”

Bruce’s arms are still crossed, and the hug Dick’s giving isn’t returned, but Dick doesn’t seem to mind, or at least isn’t letting go. He squeezes tighter, face pressed to the thin skin above Bruce’s collarbone where a pajama button tugged free when Dick launched himself at him.

Dick smells like shampoo and fabric softener. Bruce raises one hand to pet the silky brown head cradled under his chin, but lowers it without touching. 

When Dick speaks again, Bruce can feel warm breath and the vibration of muffled words against his throat. “So can I stay, then?”

“No.”

“Ugh!“ He squeezes Bruce’s shoulders, hard, and leans back, knees on Bruce’s thighs, to look at him. “Bruce,” he says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Hmm?”

Dick puts one hand on each side of his face and forces Bruce to make eye contact. “You always say partners are supposed to look out for each other.”

Bruce makes another noncommittal noise and pushes an errant strand of hair out of Dick’s eyes.

“You’re not listening!” Dick gives his face a quick shake. “Partners are supposed to look out for each other, right?” 

“That’s exactly it. You ought to be in bed.” 

“I‘m trying.” Dick grins a loopy smile that Bruce refuses to acknowledge as anything but completely innocent.

He doesn’t smile back as he sighs. “Your own bed.” 

Dick takes the hand Bruce used to gesture towards the door and holds it as he smoothly twists around to sit in Bruce’s lap. “We worked really hard tonight, Batman.” He relaxes back against Bruce’s chest, holding Bruce‘s right hand between his own two. “I need to get some rest so we can go out and do it again tomorrow,” he says, efficient and reasonable like Robin ought to be. “Why can’t I just lie down with you for a minute?”

Bruce stiffly allows his hand to be held, just for a moment. “Because,“ he says, and the word comes out hoarse enough that he has to clear his throat again, “school starts-” he leans forward to check the clock on the bedside table. Leans into Dick’s neck, just above the pale blue cotton of the pajama collar. He breathes in the skin-warmed scent of laundry soap and shampoo and faint, sweet sweat. “In less than four hours, Dick.” With each word, he feels his stubble rasp softly against Dick’s neck. 

Dick shivers against his chest and Bruce stills, every muscle frozen.

Dick hefts the hand he’s holding. It’s Bruce’s right hand, and he places his own over the top, splaying them, comparing, as he takes a deep breath. “So why can’t we, um-you know. “

Bruce untangles his fingers from Dick’s. “No.” 

“It would help me sleep.” He reaches for Bruce’s hand again. “Help me get out there and fight next to you tomorrow.”

“Dick…” 

Dick tucks his head into crook of Bruce’s shoulder, rubbing slick hair against exposed skin. “Come on, Bruce. Just one more time.” He turns his head and presses his face to Bruce’s chest, breathing him in. “You smell good.”

Bruce puts a hand on each of Dick’s shoulders. “Dick, you’ve got to get up.” 

“You’re a little wound up, too,” Dick says, tenaciously Robin, resisting as he shifts on his lap. “I can tell.” 

Bruce can feel his heart pounding, throbbing at his pulse points and in his chest, along the plane of Dick’s back, where it’s pressed against him. He concentrates on slowing his pulse, and keeping his breathing soundless. He thinks he may be failing.

Dick captures Bruce’s wrist, pulling the big hand where he wants it, then presses his own over it, holding it in place. 

Bruce, his eyebrows pulled into a tight line, lets him.

The third time Dick arches up into his palm, Bruce’s other hand is tightly gripping Dick’s hip, and he’s not letting go.

Dick never quite makes it back to his own room.


End file.
